Wesley Wyndam Pryce: Rogue Demon Hunter
by Lissa Rae
Summary: Written in Fall 2001. What happened to Wesley between leaving Sunnydale and arriving months later in Los Angeles?
1. The Beginning

"If I could just get something for the pain…it…it's rather a lot of pain, actually. Aspirin? Anyone? Perhaps I could just be knocked unconscious…" Wesley Wyndam-Pryce moaned as the paramedics helped him into the ambulance.

"Of course, sir," the medical technician said, leaning down to inject a painkiller into Wesley's arm. The last thing he remembered was Mr. Giles entering the ambulance just before it took off for the hospital.

***

_Sunnydale Memorial Hospital  
8:43 PM _

Wesley awoke to the cool touch of a woman's hand on his forehead. * Mum? * he thought briefly, then remembered that his mum was in England, and he had called her earlier to inform her that he was no longer working for the Council. His father hadn't enjoyed that news all too much.

Slowly the day's activities started coming back to him. Being fired, planning an attack, fighting the mayor, the Ascension, blowing up the high school, kissing Cordelia…good Lord, had he really kissed Cordelia? Maybe that's who was here at his bedside. He opened his eyes, and came face to face with a large woman in a stark white uniform. Definitely not Cordelia. Must be the ER nurse. "Hello."

She smiled down at him, and he noted that her ID badge said her name was Clara. "Hello Mr. Wyndam-Pryce, how are you feeling?" she asked.

He paused for a moment, checking his extremities for any pain. None. "Actually, I feel quite good. Is this morphine?" he asked, nodding his head towards the drip IV they had attached to him. She nodded, and he grinned. "It's bloody wonderful," he enthused.

"You were pretty beaten up when you came in," she explained, gently pulling the IV out. "But the doctor's prescribed some painkillers, and you're free to go whenever you feel ready."

"Thank you," Wesley said politely, blushing when she winked at him on her way out. Strange women winking at him? That wasn't normal. But now was not the time to dwell on that. He needed to get up and dressed. Climbing carefully out of the bed, he walked across the room to where his clothes were folded neatly on the visitor's chair.

As he dressed, he went over his options. Originally he had planned to return to England after the battle, but as he was no longer working for the Watcher's Council, there was no need to do that. He could not go back to his parent's…besides the fact that he was nearly thirty and it would be deeply embarrassing to go running home with his tail tucked between his legs, he had no doubt that his father would not allow him to live at home.

But there was no reason for him to stay in Sunnydale anymore. Buffy had made it clear that she didn't want him to be her Watcher, not that it mattered anymore. Faith was in a coma. Things had not gone well with Cordelia. He was very much aware that his mere presence annoyed Mr. Giles.

For the first time in his life, Wesley was on his own.

Once he had finished dressing, he made his way up to the third floor, to Faith's room. There was nobody around, so he simply walked in and pulled the chair close to the bed.

"I have no idea if you can hear me right now," he said, looking down at the still form of the Slayer he had failed. "I just wanted to say that I'm sorry. I wasn't a very good mentor to you, and I partially blame myself for the things that have happened to you.

"We beat the mayor. I know you probably don't want to hear that, but I'll always hope that deep down, you weren't truly on his side. That you were simply gathering information, and that at the last minute you would have come to us, offered to help. I'm probably fooling myself, though. It wouldn't be the first time.

"I came to tell you that I'm leaving. I was fired…that should make you happy. I'm going to be doing things my way now, not bending and scraping to a bunch of snobs who have no idea what's really going on. I'm off to be a lone wolf, searching out evil and fighting it where I can. And I want you to know that if you wake up and want to join me, I would welcome the chance to make up for my failures.

"Just ask around. I'll be out there…Wesley Wyndam-Pryce, Rogue Demon Hunter."

***

_1013 Duke Lane, Apt 14  
9:42 AM _

"Right. These clothes will just not do at all," Wesley muttered, staring into his closet at the row of clothes, sorted by style and color. On the left were the suit jackets, followed by pants and dress shirts. His shoes were all lined up neatly on the floor, and the tie rack on the back of the door was organized into stripes, polka dots, and solids. Of course, Cordelia had liked his clothes, but they weren't exactly in style. And they probably wouldn't do in his new line of work. He didn't even own a pair of jeans.

So it was off to the mall. Maybe he should copy Angel, and dress all in black. That was mysterious, and it was hard to not match. He would keep that in mind, he promised himself, as he stepped into the first store.

Twenty minutes later, he stepped out again, three large bags of clothes in hand. He had actually willingly purchased a pair of leather trousers. His mother would have a heart attack if she knew. And his father would call him a pansy. But the salesgirl had said he looked "hot," and apparently that was a good thing, so he bought them. As well as a matching leather jacket. The next stop was to get boots. When he was sure he looked tough enough to intimidate at least the lessor demons, he went back out to his car, a mid-seventies era station wagon. That, of course, would have to go as well. No self-respecting demon hunter could drive around in his '74 wagon with wood paneling on the side. Just wouldn't do at all.

And so, after a quick stop at home to drop off the bags, that's how he found himself talking to a used car salesman, and trading in his Chevy for a sporty little motorcycle. And a helmet, of course. He wouldn't want to get pulled over for breaking the helmet law.

On the way home, he drove by the high school. The fires had been put out, of course, and all the emergency personnel had gone. All that was left now was a blackened building. The ground was still wet from the attempts to extinguish the blaze, and he realized that his new boots were getting muddy, but he didn't care. People had died the night before, trying to save the town. Trying to save the world. People he'd known. Cordelia's friend Harmony, for one. Principle Snyder, who hadn't been a pleasant man, but who had shared Wesley's love of discipline and rules. He'd read in the paper this morning that Larry, who had been the captain of the football team, had died. It was for people like them that he had to move on. For people like Chad Watkins, whom he had never met, but who had given his life to help them.

Deciding against going back home right away, he pointed the motorcycle toward Mr. Giles' apartment. Ten minutes later, he was pulling up behind the librarian's car,

"Hullo? Rupert?" Wesley called, finding his mentor on the front terrace, sipping a mid-day cup of tea.

Giles looked up, his eyes widening in shock as he took in the younger Englishman's new look. "Er…Wesley, what can I do for you?"

"I've come to say goodbye."

"Oh, you're leaving us, then?" Giles asked, and Wesley could detect the faintest hint of a suppressed smile. "The Council's called you home?"

"No, in fact, I'm not with them anymore. And so I'm off to use my talents elsewhere."

"What, you're going to become a professional know-it-all?" the older man mocked.

Wesley glared at him. "No," he countered huffily. "I'm going to track down rogue demons. A bounty hunter for the underworld, per se." He ignored the other man's laugh as he continued. "And I was going to ask you to join me, as I don't believe you really have a library to go back to, but if this is your attitude, then I believe I'm better off alone."

Giles stopped laughing, apparently realizing that Wesley was indeed serious. "Right then. Cheers," he said, raising the teacup in a mock salute. "I wish you the best of luck, and Godspeed."

"Thank you," Wesley said, ignoring the fact that Rupert was probably being a bit sarcastic. "You'll tell the others, then?"

"Of course," Rupert assured him. Not that the others, save perhaps Cordelia, would care. They hadn't liked him much in the first place, they most likely wouldn't care if he stayed or went. Well, that wasn't exactly true. They would probably prefer it if he went.

But now he was dwelling in negativity, and he had promised himself he wouldn't do that. So, with a final cheery wave towards Mr. Giles, he turned and headed back down to his motorcycle and sped away.

***

Two hours later, he was on the road. To where, he had no idea. It didn't matter. He was a demon hunter now, and a hunter could find prey wherever he roamed.


	2. Mr Chen

_Previously on Wesley Wyndam-_Pryce_: Rogue Demon Hunter – Wesley changed his image and left town as a bad boy. _

Wesley sped along the Pacific Highway, the wind rushing across his face, his features set determinedly. To his left was the ocean, and he could almost hear the roar of the crashing waves over the hum of his motorcycle. To his right were towering redwoods, some of which were believed to be thousands of years old.

To some people, that seemed like an eternity. But to Wesley, who had recently worked with a vampire who had seen nearly a quarter of a millennium, it was nothing. In his studies, he had come across several different creatures who had been ancient when these trees were merely seeds in the ground, planted by some extinct prehistoric bird. Of course, he had never come face to face with any of these creatures. Yet. Now that he was a demon hunter, though, there was the distinct possibility that he might have to go up against things that he had only previously read about.

It was a thought that days before would have terrified him. And, truth be told, it still terrified him. But it was what he had to do, he knew that now. He was sworn to fight rogue demons wherever he went, to champion the forces of good, and defeat the evil that lay upon his path. Oh yes, he was a formidable opponent. At least, he would be as soon as he could make himself stop screaming like a girl.

***

He had stopped at the Fish Tank before he had left Sunnydale a few days earlier, and Willy had pointed him in the direction of a friend of his in San Francisco who could use some help with a Rathor demon who owed him money. Now, as Wesley drove over the Golden Gate Bridge and into Chinatown, he briefly wondered if he'd made the right choice for his life. He knew that getting mixed up with Willy and his friends was not the smartest thing to do, but it was the only way he could think of to start making a name for himself. He had to build a reputation as the best demon hunter out there, or else this whole idea wouldn't work. And so, with no little amount of trepidation, he parked his motorcycle in front of the agreed meeting place, and went inside.

He found himself inside a Chinese restaurant, and as it was just past noon, the lunch crowd was heavy. It would be easy to blend into this crowd. A young waitress seated him towards the back, and he ordered a light lunch, and a cup of English tea.

A small, frail looking man delivered the tea moments later. "You are the Hunter," he said, and although it wasn't a question, Wesley nodded anyway.

The man sat down then, and Wesley wasn't surprised that, while quite soft spoken, there was a great strength in his eyes. It radiated off of him in waves. This was not someone to be messed with.

"My name is Chen," he began. "In addition to this restaurant, I run a sports bar that is mostly populated by demons of one sort or another. It is remarkably similar to my dear friend William's bar in Sunnydale, only in my bar there is a large amount of gambling. Fortunes are won and lost every night.

"One of my regulars, Nerrik the Rathor, comes in every Friday night to gamble on the dog races. He has had a run of bad luck lately, it seems, and now owes me $45,000. Consequently, he has been missing for three weeks. I have been unable to find him, even using my considerable resources. I am hoping that you will be able to do what I have not.

"Regarding your fee, a portion of the returns will of course go to you. Twenty percent of whatever you can recover. I believe this to be quite a generous amount, and will not negotiate. If this is unacceptable to you, you may go now."

At first, Wesley was unable to speak. This was better than he had imagined his first case would be by a long shot. But he had to stay cool…he didn't want his client to lose faith in his abilities before he even had a chance to demonstrate them. "No," he finally managed to say, "it is a fair offer. I accept."

With that out of the way, Chen gave him all the personal information he had about Nerrik…his hangouts, his family, who else he owed money to. Soon Wesley was back out on the street, wondering where to go first.

***

Before he left Sunnydale, Wesley had input all the information in his books, and anything else the Council had provided him with, into a laptop computer. After all, he couldn't carry all of it around from town to town on a motorcycle. So now, instead of revisiting all the places Chen's crew had tried, he found a cheap motel room, plugged his computer in, and started learning all he could about Rathor demons.

Hours later, he had found that Rathor's were generally peaceful, cowardly demons, with a penchant for money and gambling. They preferred warm, sunny places with lots of noise, and had the ability to change their normally blue skin to a normal shade of tan, although it took a lot of effort. After thinking about it for a moment, Wesley decided where to go first.

***

"And…they're off!" came the announcer's voice over the speaker system, and Wesley looked down to see half a dozen dogs racing around a track, following a rabbit shaped beacon. He watched for a bit, and then turned his attention back to the crowd next to the track. From his place in the stands, all he could see was the tops of their heads, but he was hoping that was all he would need.

Sure enough, after scanning the crowd for a while, he spotted a patch of blue. It was just for a very brief second, but he had pinpointed the location now, and all he had to do was wait for another distraction, like the end of a race, to figure out exactly which being the blue head belonged to.

He didn't have to wait for long this time. As the next race ended, the blue head flashed again, and Wesley waited only long enough to identify the human-looking façade the demon was wearing before hurrying down to the Cashier's booth to wait for the Rathor.

"So, Nerrik, how much did you win?" he said, approaching the demon after he had collected his winnings. There was no one else around…apparently Nerrik had been the only one to win this race.

Nerrik whirled around. "Who are you? Who sent you? Bobby? Donnie? Clarisse? Big Joe?"

Wesley shook his head. "Chen sent me. He says you owe him a lot of money, Nerrik."

At the sound of Chen's name, the demon paled, then the human façade flickered out, leaving Wesley facing a tall, bald, blue Rathor. Who looked somewhat terrified.

"Ch..ch..chen? Look, mister, I know I owe Mr. Chen a lot of money, but I don't have it. Don't kill me!"

Wesley chuckled. "I'm not going to kill you. Then we'd never get our money. How much do you have there?" he asked, nodding towards the wad of cash in Nerrik's hand.

"Twenty thousand and some change," the demon replied quietly.

"Well, it's a start."

Nerrik frowned. "But I have to pay the other bookies, too."

"Who would you rather have angry with you? Big Joe, or Mr. Chen?"

The demon thought for a moment. "Good point. Here you go." With that, he handed over the money he had, even going so far to empty his pockets.

Wesley counted out everything that was there. Twenty four thousand. More than half of what was owed. Not bad for a few hours work. But he was sure that Nerrik could do better than that. "You made twenty thousand on the last race?" he asked.

Nerrik nodded.

"Do it again," Wesley said, handing back some of the money. "If you can make another twenty one thousand, your debt to Mr. Chen will be paid off. Otherwise…well, I'd hate to have to take you back there and have *him* deal with you."

Again, the demon paused to think, and Wesley knew he was wondering if it was even possible to win as much as he needed to in the remaining races. Finally, having apparently making up his mind that it was indeed possible, he concentrated for a moment, changing back into the normal looking human, took the proffered money, and strode back up to the Cashier's desk, where he looked over the odds for the next race, then made his bets. Soon, he had returned to where Wesley was waiting, and they stood there patiently in silence as the dogs sped around the track below.

As the race finished and Nerrik went once again to collect his winnings, Wesley idly wondered how a demon with so much talent for winning when he had to could have gotten into so much debt. Then Nerrik handed him the money, and he went back to not caring. "I don't want to have to find you again, Nerrik," he warned.

"Understood, sir," the demon said, nodding. "Once I pay everyone off, I'm out of the gambling business for good." Wesley knew it was a lie, but it didn't matter to him. What did matter is that he had finished his first job, and made nine thousand dollars. Not bad for one day's work.

***

An hour later, he was back at Chen's. The same young waitress seated him, and he once again ordered English tea, which was the signal to Chen that he had returned. Moments later, the ancient Chinaman emerged from the kitchen and sat next to Wesley.

"Hunter, you have returned quickly. You were unable to locate Nerrik the Rathor?" he asked, his face disapproving.

"On the contrary," Wesley smiled, "I located him, and procured all of his debt," he said, placing the now neatly bundled cash on the table before him.

"Very impressive," Chen said, his frown disappearing. He quickly counted the money, then separated nine thousand for Wesley. "I will recommend you to my friends."

"I would appreciate it," Wesley said, sipping his tea. "And thank you."

"You are welcome. Where will you go now?"

Wesley thought. "I've never seen Texas. I hear it's a beautiful state."

"It is indeed," Chen agreed. "I have a friend there, who has been having demon problems in her small town. I wonder if you would be so kind as to assist her with that?"

"Of course. I would be happy to help. Tell her that I'll be there as soon as I can."

A second job. Things were looking good. If they continued along this way, he would never have to worry about what to do with his life again.


	3. Scaly Green Tourists

"Wesley Wyndam-Pryce, Rogue Demon Hunter. With maybe a nice logo in the corner."

The Kinkos guy looked at him like he had sprouted another head, but it was something he was used to. Not many people in North Texas believed in demons, it seemed. At least, not until they ran through your living room and started climbing the walls and dripping green goo onto your white linen tablecloths. Then they became very real. And when they started walking around town after Labor Day, wearing shorts and long, white socks to cover up their scaly, knobby knees, they became hunted. Obviously, though, this Kinkos guy hadn't seen one of those demons. "You're kidding, right?" he asked.

Wesley shook his head. "Can I get those by three?" The young man nodded, still obviously not believing him. Didn't matter, Wes no longer cared. He was a lone wolf now. And he had a meeting with the mayor at three-thirty, and needed those business cards.

With a satisfied grin, he left the store. His first business cards. Today was an important day in the life of Wesley Wyndam-Pryce, former Watcher. He was finally on his own, no family, no Council to back him. It was a day he had looked forward to for years, never believing that it would actually come. But when Buffy had left the Council, he had gone as well. Sure, everyone in Sunnydale probably thought he'd been fired, if they thought about it at all. But after their refusal to help with the Ascension situation, Wesley had snapped, and quit. And since then, he'd been on the road, never staying anywhere long enough to be found. Not quite on the run, but not safe enough to stay in one place. Making a living by hunting down killers. And now he was in a no-name town, hunting down a no-name demon, for enough money to keep him off the streets for another couple of months.

As he waited for his cards, he thought of the people he had called friends back in Sunnydale, and wondered what they were doing now. It was August…Buffy and Willow were probably getting ready to go back to school. Faith was still in the hospital, unconscious. He checked on her anonymously once a week. Cordelia had told him of her plan to go to LA and become famous; she was probably already going to auditions, living the star's life. Giles was still estranged from the Council, and Wesley wondered what he would do now, with his job at the school being gone. With everyone else, he didn't know what their plans were, or in some cases, didn't care.

He was back at the copy place just before 3:00 to pick up his business cards, and then he was off to City Hall to meet with the mayor.

***

"So you're telling me it looks like a green tourist?" Wesley clarified.

The mayor, an attractive blond in her fifties, nodded. "Can you kill it?" she asked.

"Yes." It was said without much enthusiasm. He'd been hoping for something more dangerous.

"Good," she said, satisfied. "When you're done with that, I have a friend who could use you in Graceland," she added.

"I…err…" Graceland? Elvis fans...rabid tourists...he wasn't sure if that was the sort of crowd he wanted to mix with. Whatever it was that controlled his fate had a pretty vicious sense of humor. "Right. We'll talk about it when I get back," he promised, then rushed off to kill the touristy demon that plagued the small town.

***

Sometimes his job was too easy. The knobby-kneed green demon hadn't exactly been stealthy in his trek across town, and all Wesley had to do was follow the path of people screaming in terror until he reached the public pool, across the street from the high school. Throwing the doors open, he followed it inside, where he found it swimming laps, as if nothing was wrong.

"Excuse me," Wesley called, his voice echoing across the water.

"Yes?" The demon stopped swimming and started treading water halfway down the pool.

The former Watcher cleared his throat. "Err…the people of this town would like you to leave."

"They don't want me to swim anymore?" the demon asked, the scaly skin on his neck rippling as if he had gills…which it seemed he did.

Wesley finally recognized him as an amphibious demon, and a rather harmless one. "That too," he replied. "But mostly they just want you to leave town."

The demon nodded. "Yeah, I was kind of starting to sense that," he agreed, heading towards the edge of the pool. "I was going to leave tonight anyway. I'm on my way to the coast."

"Very good," Wesley said, approving. "Well, safe journey."

"And to you, good sir," he replied, climbing out of the pool. "I'll just be on my way, then."

Wesley watched as the demon exited the building, his white socks dripping water all over the tile surrounding the pool, then followed him out, and proceeded to escort him to the town limit. When they reached the Welcome sign, both turned to go their separate ways. The demon went southeast, towards the Gulf of Mexico, and Wesley headed back north, towards City Hall.

"He's gone," he assured the Mayor, who was quite grateful, and thankfully didn't ask if Wesley had killed the demon or not. "So I'll just collect my fee and be on my way, then," he said quickly, hoping to avoid the subject of her previously mentioned friend.

No such luck. "Wait," she said. "I do think my friend could use you." She handed him a piece of paper, and he could see an address and phone number scrawled across it, the handwriting loopy and quite feminine. "I've faxed her your business card, she's expecting you within the week," she instructed, obviously not willing to take no for an answer.

Wesley sighed. "Fine," he agreed. "If you speak to her, please tell her I'll be there in a few days."

***

A few hours later, he had gathered his things, and was on his motorcycle, heading east. Graceland, here I come, he thought.


End file.
